


Watch My Back, Hold Me Close

by fractalficlets (fractalgeometry)



Series: Hugtober 2020 [8]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Comfort, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Hugs, M/M, Other, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:36:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26916721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractalgeometry/pseuds/fractalficlets
Summary: Aziraphale loves Earth, with all its colors and complications. And yet thoughts of Heaven are still enough to leave him feeling cold and detached. Crowley knows this. Crowley knows this, and he knows how to help.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Hugtober 2020 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952887
Comments: 17
Kudos: 98





	Watch My Back, Hold Me Close

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Color of Healing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26916472) by [DandelionDrabbles (AnonymousDandelion)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousDandelion/pseuds/DandelionDrabbles). 



> This one was inspired by [AnonymousDandelion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousDandelion/pseuds/AnonymousDandelion)'s fill for the Flufftober prompt "Monochromatic". We agreed that Aziraphale needed a hug after it, but it didn't fit in her fic. But, as we all know, I'm doing Hugtober! So really, there was an obvious answer to this. 
> 
> This is written to follow on to her fic, (which is only 200 words so it won't even take long to read), so if you can, read that first! It's so, so good and gave me many feelings of the best sort. I do think this can stand on its own as well, however. I absolutely love it and I can't wait to hear what you all think.

Aziraphale’s eyes search his surroundings, taking in the colors and clutter that surround him. He does love color, yes. Color means Earth, and Earth, he can now admit, means home. It’s good to be called out of his less-than-comforting thoughts and end up back here, in his place. 

His eyes take in the color, and the clutter, and everything that makes this place home...and he still feels cold. He hates that, the way the mere thought of Heaven is enough to make him feel this way, detached and unsure. He is free now. He ought to  _ feel _ free.

Crowley is still watching him. Crowley knows, knows how to tell when Aziraphale has gone distant, knows not to let him pretend everything is fine. Aziraphale hates that too, sometimes, a part of him insisting that Crowley shouldn’t know, no one should know, Aziraphale should be fine. He isn’t fine, not now.

Crowley knows, and he stays, every time. Crowley knows, and he has never once told Aziraphale to get it together, or stop worrying. Crowley knows, and he uses that knowledge to help, to draw Aziraphale out of his thoughts when he goes too deep, to stop Aziraphale from saying the self-deprecating things that a part of him still believes he deserves. 

Crowley is here, watching Aziraphale, and he knows that Aziraphale isn’t okay, and he’s not saying anything. He’s watching, and he’s waiting. Waiting to help.

Aziraphale gives his partner a wan smile. He opens his mouth, trying to form the words that won’t come, ask for that which he feels like he shouldn’t need. 

He gets as far as “Could you-” before the rest of the sentence dries up, and he steps closer to Crowley instead, twitching his arms in the demon’s direction, trying to convey the rest of his question without the flighty, unreliable words that have abandoned him here.

Crowley understands, he always does, even when Aziraphale doesn’t entirely understand himself. Crowley knows, and Crowley understands. It’s in the way he murmurs, “Of course,” the way he steps forward, slides one arm around Aziraphale’s waist and another over his shoulder, pressing a hand into Aziraphale’s upper back. It’s in the way he stands solid as Aziraphale finally lets his head drop to rest on Crowley’s shoulder, his own hands pressing shakily into the demon’s back. It’s in the way his hand moves, rubbing gentle, comforting circles on Aziraphale’s shoulderblade. 

“You’re all right,” Crowley says at last, quietly, right next to Aziraphale’s ear. “I’m here.”

Crowley is here. Crowley is here, on Earth, and so is Aziraphale. They’re both here, where everything is colorful and complicated and real. And when Aziraphale stands like this, held tight in the arms of the being he loves most of all, he is reminded that sometimes, he  _ is _ all right.

And for now, that’s enough.


End file.
